Old Habits Die Hard Part Two, An old dog learns new tricks Options

[haute ecole rider]

Hi all,

To continue my story, I decided to break it up in more manageable chunks. The 200 post limit seems to be a reasonable number.

You can see Chapters 1-7 here:

Now begins Chapter 8.

Back on the road again, Julian catches up with a friend, and makes another, among the Legion riders. Riding along the Blue Road under the full moons is special. I hope I’ve managed to convey that feeling to all my readers.

This post is a little longer than my self-imposed limit, but it was hard to edit a much longer interlude down into something that was more manageable for the forums and still had the important stuff.

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Chapter 8.1 Bandits and Riders

Paint was eager to go. He chose to gallop around the Red Ring Road, only slowing down when we caught up to Marc Atellus between Sercen and Red Roxey Inn. Blowing and bouncing as he slowed down to match the Legion horse’s slow amble, Paint whickered at the other horse.

“Hello, Julian!” Atellus greeted me heartily. He slapped his left thigh. “Thanks to you, all healed now!”

“Good,” I mirrored his grin as I tried to catch my breath. “I’m glad to see you again, Atellus.”

“In these dark times, friends are more valuable than treasure,” the Legion rider commented as the two horses continued down the road at an easy pace. “Your horse looks well-rested this afternoon.”

“He should be, sir,” I responded, slapping the brown-and-white neck fondly. “He’s been loafing for the past two days, since I saw you last. He just galloped all the way from Weye.”

Atellus’s brows lifted beneath his helm. “All that way?” he whistled. “Paint must be feeling really good today!” He laughed as Paint tossed his head and bounced twice, as if in agreement. The Legion bay pinned his ears briefly at Paint, who subsided and became sedate again. “Shush, Bucky,” Atellus chided his mount quietly, with amusement in his voice. “Our horses may seem lazy,” he admitted to me, “but it’s because they go all day and all night, with little time for rest. They’re smart enough to conserve their energy.”

“I’ve noticed, sir,” I responded. “It’s a good thing when you have to ride long hours.”

“So, Julian, where are you and Paint headed on this fine afternoon?” Atellus asked.

“Cheydinhal, sir,” I answered. Ahead, in the shadows thrown by the westering sun, I saw a shabby little inn off to the north of the road, tucked beneath high mountains.

“That’s Roxey Inn,” Atellus pointed at it. “And we’re near the end of my patrol. You’ll run into Marius Tarquinius between here and Wellspring Cave, just past the Blue Road. Caelius Drusus patrols the Blue Road. He’s the youngest of us, and has never served in the provinces.”

“Is he the least experienced, sir?” I asked.

“Humph,” Atellus shook his head. “Actually, Drusus has done nothing but patrol,” he responded. “Started out as a forester, so he’s a pretty tough character.” He looked hard at me. “I mention him because he’s likely the least prejudiced of all of us riders.”

“Against Redguards, you mean, sir?” I asked, thinking of Adrian Remus, the rider I had encountered east of Skingrad. He had been cool, even suspicious, toward me, though he had maintained a professional demeanor. Atellus nodded, a little ruefully.

“And Dunmer,” he added. “That’s why he’s assigned to the Cheydinhal patrol route. That city’s half Dunmer as it is. He gets along very well with everyone there.” Atellus halted Bucky and threw me a half salute before turning the bay back westward. “Farewell, Julian!”

“Thanks for the company, sir,” I said. “Stay safe,” I called to his departing back. “And watch out for marauder archers!” His guffaw trailed behind him. Paint resumed his slow walk. Patting his neck again, I found it cool. “Out of energy, Paint?” I asked him. He tossed his head and bounced once, but resumed his walk immediately.

The night settled around as we turned onto the cobblestones of the Blue Road. The highway climbed steeply to the top of a ridge, and Paint marched resolutely up the slope. Near the top of the hill, I spotted the ruins of an old farmstead to the right of the road. When I saw movement within the ruins, I stopped Paint near an oak tree about twenty meters away. After I dismounted, I limped forward, the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand, my right hand near the hilt of my katana.

Two shadows detached themselves from the ruin, one carrying a hammer, the other a shortsword. They separated as they drew near. I recognized the tactic from my years in the service. They intended to attack me from opposite sides. I hobbled toward the swordsman, barely recognizable as a Redguard in the darkness, and ducked his blade, circling to get him between me and the hammer-wielding Khajiit. My katana picked up the starlight along its slender blade. My buckler blocked the sword strike from the Redguard, and I shoved him back into the Khajiit, sending both of them staggering.

Before the swordsman could recover, I brought the edge of my shield down on his sword arm, feeling the bones snap beneath the metal disc. With a groan, he hunched over his broken arm. In spite of his greater weight, I managed to knock him aside in time to backhand my katana against the man-feline. The tip of my blade sliced through the other’s upraised right arm.

The Khajiit spat as my blade caught on the edge of his leather cuirass. He pulled back, freeing my katana, and raised his hammer again with more difficulty. My sword slipped beneath his chin, twisting through his throat and tearing it out sideways.

As he fell back, a shout reminded me of the Redguard with the broken arm. As I hopped to my right and spun around to face him, I saw that a Legion rider had already engaged the bandit. Awkward with the sword in his left hand, the Redguard was no match for a fresh fighter, and a heavily armored one at that.

Kneeling stiffly to wipe my bloodied blade on the Khajiit’s sackcloth pants, I sheathed it as the rider strode up to me, his own weapon put away. “Caelius Drusus?” I asked, aware of his assessing gaze and the way his eyes lingered on the Kvatch Wolf in my left hand.

“Yes,” he answered, “and you must be Julian.”

“I see you’ve heard about me already,” I muttered. “Thanks for your help, sir.”

“Yes, I have heard about you,” Drusus remarked, amused. “Are you unhurt, I hope?”

“I’m fine, sir,” I answered. “Tired of battling bandits and marauders, though.”

“Well, if you’re going to Cheydinhal,” Drusus remarked, lighting the torch, “you’ll probably run into another bandit ambush about half a kilometer west of the city gates.” The torchlight illuminated the youth in the other’s face, as well as the experience in his level gaze. He shrugged. “They are never around when I ride by, but travelers have come to grief there. They’ve been particularly -” he paused, “bothersome lately.”

“Well, I’ll see when I get there, sir,” I commented. I turned back to look for Paint. “I left my horse back a ways.”

“I did, too,” Drusus admitted. “Tell you what, I’m weary of hearing about those invisible bandits. They’ll likely ambush you - with that white hair of yours they’ll think you’re easy game. I’ve got to ride on down to Fort Urasek,” he indicated the ruined fort on the lakeshore, past the end of the Blue Road, “then come back toward Cheydinhal. If you wait for me, maybe we can take care of those bandits once and for all.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll travel slow until you catch up to me.”

“Travel real slow,” his tone was dry. I couldn’t help smiling at his irony.

Masser and Secunda were just rising over the eastern horizon when Paint and I passed the ruined farmstead. He was all too happy to remain at a slow amble for now. The road floated along the shoulder of the foothills to the north, the lofty Jeralls just visible beyond. To the south, on my right, the land dropped away into an expansive plain, dotted with groves, small lakes, and a single Ayleid ruin.

I spotted an overgrown gateway and a faint dirt path heading north into the foothills just past the farmstead. Briefly I wondered what lay at the end of that path.

Deer spooked at us and ran off, quick shadows highlighted by the white undersides of their tails. A grey ghost paced us from the side of the road, but veered off when Paint turned his head and looked directly at him without faltering in his stride. That wolf’s not hungry tonight. Bet those bandits up ahead are. I followed the wraithlike form with my gaze as the canine ran up a bank to the shore of a highland lake, just north of the road, its waterfall argent in the growing moonlight.

Ahead, the trees became thicker as the road began to rise into the foothills of the Valus Mountains to the east. A crenellated silhouette of a wall nearly blended into the treetops, only the right angles along the top of the barrier giving away its manmade origins. I slowed Paint even more and waited until I could hear the clopping of Drusus’s mount behind us. At the bottom of the slope, I stopped and dismounted from Paint. As I limped forward, I strained my eyes into the shadows on either side of the road, where thick trees and boulders crowded close.

Perfect place for an ambush. No wonder Drusus never saw anyone here - plenty of places to hide close to the road. Shaking my shield into my left hand, I drew my katana. A bird whistle - birdcalls in the middle of the night? - prompted me to raise my buckler as the thwap! of a snapping bowstring followed. The broadhead arrow smacked into the light iron, staggering me to the right. Booted footsteps on my right drew my head and katana around in time to catch the wrist of a mace-wielding woman. I kept my shield to the north side of the road, where I knew the bowman hid, and elbowed the female Redguard hard, freeing my blade from the bones of her wrist and kicking her legs from beneath her.

Drusus’s footfalls and clanking armor reached me. Still focused on the Redguard woman at my feet, I shouted at him, “Archer, in the trees on the left!” Drusus changed direction, and his footfalls went silent as he left the cobblestones of the road.

The woman regained her feet with an agility that surprised even me. She proved to be ambidextrous, just as adept with the mace in her left hand as in her right. She charged me, and before I could back away, she was inside my guard and swinging that mace low. The heavy iron head smashed into my right hip. With a groan, I danced left, chopping downwards with my katana to catch her left elbow. The blade bit into bone before skittering away, tearing muscle and tendon with it.

Effectively neutralized, the bandit dropped back, her mace striking sparks as it landed on the cobblestones and rolled away. Shouts in the trees across the road told me that Drusus had found the archer. Lifting the tip of my blade, I pointed it at the Redguard’s throat. “Are there more of you?” I demanded.

Her jaw clenched in defiance, the bandit used her right forearm to knock my katana away. Her left foot came up and slammed me in my belly, knocking the wind out of me. I managed to recover before she could follow through, and stabbed the katana into her lower abdomen. As I sliced the tip of my blade sideways, I heard her gasp, and stepped back as she shuddered to the cobblestones, blood appearing black beneath her body in the moonlight.

Short of breath, I looked around as the shouting fell into immense silence. Turning towards the trees where Drusus had disappeared, I limped across the road, my right hip stabbing with each step. The Legion rider reappeared out of the forest, sheathing his sword. A couple of arrows protruded from his chest plate, a couple more in his shield.

“There,” he said, catching his breath, and walking up to me. He yanked the two arrows out of his armor and looked at me, “That went rather well, I may say so.” His gaze sharpened on my face. “Are you hurt, Julian?”

“Ach,” I groaned as my hip twinged. “She managed to hit me once or twice, sir.” Together, we pulled the bandit’s body off the road, placing the corpse behind a clump of azaleas. I turned down the slope and started limping back to the horses. “It’ll heal,” I added, casting my healing as I spoke.

“I see Atellus is right,” Drusus said, an approving note in his voice. “You do know how to fight.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m as good as I used to be, sir,” I answered. “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll come back,” Drusus assured me as we reached the horses. My hip protested at the thought of mounting up, so I picked up Paint’s rein and started trudging for Cheydinhal. Drusus fell into step beside me, his bay trailing behind.

“I do hope I get it back, sir,” I muttered. “It would seem my work is far from done.”

“There are days when it seems like it never ends, huh?” Drusus commented. I nodded at the wisdom of his words. He may be young, as Atellus said, but experienced beyond his years. At the top of the slope, the closed gates of Cheydinhal visible less than a hundred meters away, Drusus stopped and mounted his mare.

“Thanks for your help, Julian.” He pointed out the stables to the left of the road. “There’s Black Waterside Stables. If you leave your horse in the corral, they’ll take care of him. You can pay them later.” He considered me a moment longer. “Get a bed at the Newlands Lodge. The innkeeper is a Dunmer, but it’s warm, cheap and comfortable. You’ll do well to stay there. There is the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn, but it’s more expensive.”

“All right, Drusus, thanks,” I said, leading Paint towards the stable corral. “I’ll see you again, sir.”

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: May 26 2010, 11:37 PM

[haute ecole rider]

@SubRosa: Valen Dreth??!! Now that I'm done laughing, let me catch my breath and say - Guess Again! Yes, that flashback to the Chapel of Dibella goes back to Julian's return to Anvil after being discharged from the Legion. I wanted to show the depths of despair she felt during those dark days, when she turned to drink (and eventually skooma two years later). That first love turned sour is much earlier. We'll learn a little more about that as the story grinds on . . .

@Olen: Thanks for picking up on the dark undercurrent running through Julian's personality. Yes, she is bitter, but she tries to hide it. And yes, she'll continue growing and developing. There's so much she'll learn to do! Fortunately, you won't have to wait long to learn which guild Julian joins.

@Destri: Again you show an uncanny knack at picking up the essence of Julian's character just by reading between the lines. Yes, melancholy is always with Julian. I do plan to show more of it as we progress through the Main Quest.

@Acadian: I loved the in-game dialogue with Skjorta. The fact that she runs around town drunk from 10 pm until 3 am before going to bed is one of the most, well, amusing NPC's behavioral characteristics I've ever seen. The way they gossip about her around town too adds flavor to Bruma. Poor Olfand! Once, with my thief character, I sat in their house and watched him pace around the house waiting for Skjorta to come home. It was pathetic and very sad. I'm glad the interlude in the Chapel of Talos left you wanting more. That was not part of the original drafts, but after writing Chapter Fifteen, I felt I needed to develop that aspect of Julian's character a little more, so I went back and worked this segment a little more. The scene in the Chapel just felt right at this point, and it felt like a good time to introduce the reason for Julian's disillusionment with the Divines. I'm glad you and Buffy are enjoying Bruma vicariously!

Now Julian decides to join a guild so she can have a warm bed to sleep in before hiking all the way back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Only thing is, she finds herself in yet another situation! P.S. Here is another NPC I had lots of fun writing!

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Chapter 10.6 - Joining the Mages Guild

Thoroughly chilled by the time I entered the Mages Guild, I was glad of the warmth within. A small Breton woman behind the counter glanced over as I paused on the entrance rug to look around the well-lit hall. Shelves lined the walls to either side, filled with books and alchemical equipment.

“Hello there!” she greeted me, her right hand lifting up in summons. A scamp appeared in front of me, making me jump. My hands moved for the sword hilt that wasn’t there. The creature ignored me however, and stood in place for several seconds, until it dissolved into sulfurous smoke. “I’m Jeanne Frasoric, head of the Bruma Mages Guild Chapter,” the woman smiled at me brightly. “Are you here to join the Mages Guild?” her voice turned faintly condescending in its light tone.

“I don’t know,” I answered, moving closer to Frasoric. “Should I?”

“Well,” she considered me thoughtfully, pug-nosed and flushed. She smoothed back her braided strawberry-blond hair, “the Mages Guild lost quite a few members when the practice of necromancy was banned. If you’re interested in studying magic and gaining knowledge, and as long as you don’t practice necromancy, we’d love to have you!”

I took the plunge. “Then yes, I’d like to join.”

“The Guild is always looking for new members, and you seem capable enough!” the woman chirped. How can she tell? I wondered to myself. She hasn’t asked me what spells I know! She must have sensed my hesitation, for she frowned slightly at me. “Are you certain you want to join?”

“Yes, I’m certain,” I replied. Am I? Do I really have what it takes to be a mage? But I want to get better at healing, so I can cast convalescence spells on Paint if he gets hurt, or on my friends. I want to learn more about alchemy. I want to get better with my flares.

“Very good!” the small woman bounced on her toes. “You are now an Associate of the Mages Guild. What a wonderful opportunity for you!” She handed me a key and a small volume. The Mages Guild Charter, I read the gold script on the spine. Great. More reading material.

“Now,” she continued, drawing my attention back to her, “please remember, if you wish to enter the Arcane University, you’ll need recommendations from every Guild Chapter in Cyrodiil.” I blinked. Enter the Arcane University? Why?

“Why would I want to enter the Arcane University?” I repeated my question out loud. Remembering Raminus Polus, I considered how polite and welcoming he had been when he spoke to me in the lobby of the Mages Tower.

Frasoric’s eyebrows lifted, as did her heels. “Why, all the important people in the guild are there!” she declared. “Arch-Mage Traven lives there, in the tower - it’s such a fabulous place - you really should see it some day. I’ve been there many times myself,” her tone became braggart. “The Imperial City wouldn’t be the same without it. Maybe some day, if you know the right people -” her tone implied that she was one of those right people, “you might get a chance to see it.”

Now she straightened her spine and stood as tall as she could, lifting her chin. The top of her head barely reached my nose. “I dare say that my opinion may carry more weight than others, if you take my meaning.” I kept my face as straight as I could. Yes, I do. Her type was all too familiar to me from my years of soldiering. “Still,” she continued, “all are necessary to proceed. Good luck to you!” Her heels came down with a thump on the floorboards.

“So what can I do if I can enter the Arcane University?” I pressed. What is so special about the University that I can’t learn in the chapter houses?

“Oh, Guild members who have access to the University can craft their own spells, not to mention chat with the most important members in the Guild,” again that snooty tone crept into Frasoric’s voice, again she rose on her toes. I was beginning to get a sense of the measure of her self-esteem.

“Not like here, in Bruma?” I commented, deciding not to tell her that I had spoken with Polus himself, had been in the tower she spoke so excitedly about. Her heels might hit the floorboards so hard to break them.

Frasoric dropped her heels. “Oh, you know, it’s like anyplace else,” she said with a shrug. “Make lots of friends, look busy, same as always.” She turned partially away from me, raising her left hand again. I braced myself for her summons, but only a faint green tingle sank from her hand. “Oh, pooh,” she pouted. I bit my lip.

This is the chapter head? I asked myself. Even an old soldier like me can tell she has no aptitude for magic, let alone skill. Clearing my throat, I hoped that my face did not reflect my own incredulous thoughts. “About that recommendation -”

“A recommendation?” Frasoric turned back to me, growing a few centimeters taller again, humility dripping from her voice. “From me? Well, of course Raminus would naturally want my opinion, wouldn’t he?” she thought for a moment. “Hmm, this is a situation we both can benefit from, Associate. You do me a small favor, and I’ll happily send along a glowing recommendation. If you can find J’skar, I’ll write it immediately.”

“J’skar?” I repeated. Frasoric returned to her natural height.

“He’s disappeared,” she pouted. “I mean, really disappeared. No one here has seen him in days. Volanaro thinks maybe a spell backfired.” She huffed in an exaggerated manner. “If someone from the Guild was to stop by and find him gone, it’ll look bad for me. I can’t have that.”

I was beginning to sense the nature of the issue. “So you want me to find out what happened,” I stated, just to make things clear.

“Talk to the mages here and see what you can find out,” Frasoric rose and dropped down on her feet in a single breath. “If you can make J’skar reappear, you’ll have your recommendation.” Again she turned away, raising her hand for another summons. Again the spell fizzled ineffectively from her fist. I watched her try, and try again, intense concentration on her face. She’s trying too hard.

I had to bite my tongue to refrain from giving her advice I myself was ill-equipped to give. Have to give her credit, she’s not giving up, I admitted to myself as she kept trying. Turning away, I went to one of the side rooms, which led to a stair hall leading down to the lower level.

The basement was stone-walled, wood-floored, and cozy. A central hall ran from one side of the building to the other, with two doors leading off on each side of the passage. Voices emanated from an open doorway, drawing me to a dining room. A young Altmer, handsome with wavy red hair and a green silk outfit, looked up from setting the table. Her back to me, an older Imperial woman caught his glance and turned around to see me. She wore a lovely blue velvet dress that complemented her womanly curves, and dark hair waving in a short bob framed her oval face.

“Welcome,” the Altmer said after a moment. “I’m Volanaro, at your service. Need a spell? Need an item recharged? Need a witty practical joke played on someone? I can handle it all.”

Practical joke? I bet that’s what’s going on with J’skar. “Hello,” I returned. “I’m Julian. I just joined the Mages Guild. I’m learning my way around.”

“Oh, welcome!” the woman exclaimed. “I’m Selena Orania, Journeyman.” Her smile was warm and genuine, her tone truly welcoming. “Have a seat, join us for dinner.”

“Thanks, I will,” I took a seat at the table, across from Volanaro. Orania passed me a platter of roasted vegetables. Taking a healthy portion of them, I poured myself a tumbler of water. “How do you do here in Bruma?”

“Oh, it’s a little too rugged up here for me,” Volanaro said fastidiously. “Add a couple of hairs to a Nord and you’ve got a bear.” I spluttered violently at his words, then apologized fervently to Orania for spitting water on her lovely velvet gown.

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” she assured me, shooting a fierce look at the Altmer that made it clear who she blamed for the ruin of her dress. “Volanaro tends to have that effect on people, especially those meeting him for the first time.” Volanaro only grinned back at her, mischief in his dark eyes. “As for me,” Orania continued, “sometimes I feel we’re not welcome here. The Nords don’t like Heartlanders very much.” She waved her hand at Volanaro. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Volanaro has a twisted sense of humor. But he does have a few nice spells up his sleeves. If you want a bound sword, talk to him.”

I could have used that this afternoon. “Maybe I will,” I swallowed my mouthful first. “But I have a feeling that spell is beyond my capabilities.”

“Oh, you’ll grow your magicka quickly enough,” Volanaro assured me. “Just practice the lesser spells until you can do it without thinking.” I heard the snicker in his voice, and thought of poor Frasoric, trying so hard with her summon spell upstairs. Orania had a more difficult time keeping the frown from her face than I did.

“By the way, I understand there is another Guild member here, J’skar?” I remarked casually. I did not miss the glare Orania shot Volanaro.

“Look, I like you and all,” she said to me, her voice holding suppressed disapproval, “but I really don’t want to get in the middle of this. If Volanaro and J’skar want to have their fun, fine. I’m not going to participate, and I’m not saying another word about it. Take it up with them.” Setting her chair back with a bang, she rose from the table and left the dining room.

Looking at Volanaro, I raised my eyebrows at him. He matched my look, his own bushy brows climbing his narrow forehead.

“It’s a shame Selena doesn’t participate in our fun,” he commented by way of explanation. “But you’d be hard pressed to find a better alchemist. She takes her role here very seriously. If you need supplies, she’s the one you want to see.”

“And J’skar?” I pressed.

“You want to find J’skar?” he countered.

“Well, I’d like to meet him,” I answered.

“All right,” Volanaro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His dark eyes sparked. “I can help you with that. But you have to agree to do something for me first. And whatever it is, you can’t tell Jeanne about it, all right?”

My eyes narrowed at him. It felt all too familiar, the direction this conversation was headed. Some of my comrades in my second Legion posting had played a prank on a despised lieutenant. Jelin, our pilus prior, had caught them out. They had been flogged, the ringleader kicked out of the Legion in disgrace, and the other three participants posted to the remotest Legion outposts. It was a lesson I had taken to heart.

“What is it?” I asked, putting as much suspicion as I could muster into my voice.

Volanaro was either too dense to sense my wariness, or chose to ignore it. “That’s the spirit!” he exclaimed softly. “You help me pull off a little prank, and I’ll help you find J’skar.”

“What prank are you thinking of?” I regarded him with distaste.

“Ha!” Volanaro laughed. “You’re really going to love this! I’ll teach you a spell to unlock things. What you need to do is get into Jeanne’s desk, and bring me her Manual of Spellcraft, okay?” He winked at me. “Her room is upstairs, on the second level. Make sure no one sees you. You do that, and I’ll make sure you can find J’skar.”

“That doesn’t sound very respectful of our chapter head,” I commented, holding Volanaro’s gaze with what I hoped was my coldest stare. He shifted uncomfortably.

“With all due respect to our esteemed leader,” he scowled, indicating he had anything but due respect, “she couldn’t cast her way out of a paper sack. It’s insulting working here for her when she knows nothing. She’s managed to butter up the right people just enough to keep her position, and there’s nothing we can do about it.” A demonic glint moved through his eyes. “But we have our ways of coping with the situation.”

“I’m certain you do,” I could hear the acid in my voice, and judging by the look in Volanaro’s eyes, he didn’t miss it, either. “As long as the right people don’t find out about your propensity for disrespect.” Still, I need his help to locate J’skar. I don’t know how to cast a detect life spell. I rose from the bench. “Keep your spell,” I said, thinking of the lockpicks in my belt pouch. “I have my own ways.”